


in the silent places

by blanchtt



Category: Carol (2015)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Apocalypse, F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-18
Updated: 2018-08-18
Packaged: 2019-06-29 07:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15725112
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/blanchtt/pseuds/blanchtt
Summary: The train has stopped with no chance of moving forward, because people are panicking and nothing in New York City is working right and that’s radiating out like necrosis, and so she’s stuck on a platform in the middle of New Jersey with nothing except the clothes on her back and what she’s managed to take with her in her backpack.





	in the silent places

**Author's Note:**

> Carol AU in louisemiller's [Puppeteer universe](http://louisemiller.tumblr.com/projects), though still set in the 50's.

 

 

 

 

 

The train has stopped with no chance of moving forward, because people are panicking and nothing in New York City is working right and that’s radiating out like necrosis, and so she’s stuck on a platform in the middle of New Jersey with nothing except the clothes on her back and what she’s managed to take with her in her backpack.

 

Some people are milling around, confused and angry and distraught, and others have already left, slipped away discreetly into cars in the parking lot, and so Therese walks away from the train station, tries to remember the map she’d looked at before leaving, and starts walking.  

 

Five miles in, on a long stretch of road in what must have been a fancy neighborhood but is now overgrown with grass and bushes and trees, she looks over her shoulder, stops and watches as a grey Packard pulls over onto the side of the road next to her, gravel crunching under thick-walled tires.

 

“Get in,” the woman offers after lowering the window, and Therese is neither selfless nor stupid enough to pass up that proposal.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

She carries Rindy on her hip, left arm around her little waist to hold her steady, and follows Carol into her home, sets the girl down in the kitchen and prepares her a snack like Carol had asked if she could.

 

The icebox is well-stocked, and Therese pours her a glass of milk, sits across from her at the large dining room table and answers all the questions Rindy asks her—yes, she lives in New York City. Yes, she works in the toy department. And, yes, she can most likely get her that doll if she’d like.

 

The house is big and solid enough not to hear what Carol does upstairs, but once Carol comes downstairs it’s clear—the windows are shut, blinds drawn, doors locked. It’s comforting to find someone else who takes the outbreak so seriously, despite the newscasters’ insistence that it’s under control.

 

It does leave the house drawn in an early darkness, but that does not affect Carol—she prepares dinner, the tense look from in the car gone, and Therese can almost forget where she is and why she’s here, sits with her elbows on the table and her chin on her hand and watches Carol swan here and there throughout the kitchen, speaking and joking with her.

 

Later, Rindy asleep in Carol’s bed and the two of them sitting by her vanity, speaking in low voices, Therese holds the glass of brandy cupped in her hands. From everything she’s read, it was a terrible decision—the more people you add to a sinking ship, the less likely you are to survive.

 

“Why did you pull over?”

 

Carol looks at her, and in the lack of light her eyes look darker, softer, and Carol takes her hand, squeezes, says it as if it were the only obvious answer.

 

“How could I not?”

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

The next time she ventures outside, only several days later, Carol’s driveway is ringed with shaggy grass almost surpassing the stone border, the carefully manicured lawn overgrown as if a week has already passed. The trees on her property hang heavy, boughs overgrown with new leaves and laden with ivy that’s crept up from the ground.

 

It looks like some bastard version of a bayou, except all the plants are wrong and it’s mid-November.

 

“Looks like it might snow later,” Carol says with a glance skyward before carrying Rindy to the Packard, and Therese locks the front door, follows them.

 

The market is quiet and largely empty, as are the shelves because now everyone’s spooked, no matter what they have or haven’t heard, and they take what they can find, head home on empty streets.

 

Therese sits in a corner of the couch later, Carol and Rindy lying on the floor drawing and chatting. She opens her book to the last page she was on, marked with a dog-ear, and continues reading.

 

Since childhood she’s read everything she could get her hands on, and it’s come in handy lately. In her backpack she’d brought with her water and food, of course, along with gauze and a butcher knife, the only thing close to a weapon she’d had in her apartment, and three books—one on survival in general, another on edible plants, and the last on first aid.

 

She flips the page, continues reading about the science of staying alive. She has no home or car or anything else to offer, but there is one thing she can and it is this.

 

Later, Rindy curled drowsy in her lap, she reads about Pippi Longstocking in the South Seas to her, until Rindy’s head drops against her shoulder and the only person she’s actually reading to now is Carol and herself. She offers Rindy up, lets Carol take her and put her to bed in her room before coming back down stairs.

 

Carol cleans up in relative silence, the radio on now to catch up on the news, puts the drawings away and takes the glasses into the kitchen.

 

 _A few more cases_ —likely a lie, Therese thinks, if her inner skeptic’s right. _Situation under control. Report to your physician if you experience sensations of painlessness._

Therese marks her page, puts her book down on the coffee table once the sound of water running in the kitchen stops, stands and turns off the radio and walks out in to the hallway, meets Carol at the bottom of the stairs.

 

“What’s the plan?” Therese asks, and it’s slow to start, but Carol smiles.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

They pack light the next morning, almost at ease at the thought of leaving for Carol’s parents' home in Washington, a more remote location likely safer than sitting next to New York City. But the overcast clouds from the previous day finally turns into thick snow, and their departure is delayed.

 

“Nothing to do except wait,” Carol says with a frown, holding the curtain aside with a hand and peering out the living room window, and Therese defers to her logic, being able to offer little in the way of driving, let alone in inclement weather.

 

They try to keep Rindy entertained and themselves busy, somehow while away the day that feels longer than usual.

 

Eventually the snow-dampened light from outside fades away and they turn on the lights, and Therese places the maps with their outlined routes in her backpack, leaves it with their other things by the door as Carol takes Rindy upstairs.

 

It must be instinct, Therese has learned, for a mother to want her child in her sight. And even more so now. Rindy has slept in Carol’s bed every night despite having her own room down the hall. It is another worry removed, to fall asleep in the same room, the same bed as them both, Rindy between them. She’s known her for all of seven days, and Therese is sure she would do anything to keep her safe.

 

But a different Carol comes downstairs once more, sits on the floor next to her in front of the fire, takes her glass in her hand and drinks—the same Carol, of course, but relaxed in another way, voice smoother and motions more fluid, no one to look after. Therese offers her a corner of the tartan-patterned blanket she’s got wrapped around herself, and Carol takes it, shifts closer, and they are wrapped up, Carol’s thigh and shoulder pressed against hers.

 

It feels natural to lean her head on Carol’s shoulder, and Carol puts down her drink, moves her right arm under the blanket until Therese feels it around her shoulders, holding her close.

 

She closes her eyes, breathes in the scent of Carol’s perfume, of the wood fire, of the fabric of the blanket around them, and in that space Carol hesitates or waits, she’s not sure which, but she presses a kiss to the top of her head, and Therese understands.

 

There is no manual for this. No books or stories or histories.

 

Therese opens her eyes, lets the blanket fall away, reaches up to cup Carol’s jaw and kisses her.

 

 

 

 

 

-

 

 

 

 

 

The light that makes it way through the curtains is weak and grey and it must be early morning when the sound of a crash and shattering glass startles her awake.

 

Therese sits up with a jerk, sees Carol next to her do likewise. Rindy between them only stirs, makes a noise, and falls back asleep.

 

“God damn it,” Carol breathes, shoving aside the covers, and she stands and walks over to her vanity, throws on a robe and opens a drawer, and withdraws a revolver because there is a clicking, faint, from somewhere now. “Something must have broken a window.”

 

Therese kicks the covers off, gathers a sleepy Rindy in her arms and gets them both dressed quickly, catching in glances the sight of Carol tilting her head down, checking the cylinder matter-off-factly, and cocking the hammer.

 

“We’re leaving,” Carol says calmly, though her index finger hovers a hairsbreadth above the trigger, and Therese follows her out the door, pushes the thought of something in Rindy’s room behind the closed door out of her mind as they walk past it and down the hall and then the stairs, grab their things, and head through the snow to the car.

 

Carol drives with fingers tight around the steering wheel, and Therese looks back, sees that despite the snow the trees around the house have grown several feet since she'd first seen them, and it’s clear one has cracked and fallen against the house, probably knocking open a window if not the entire wall, like Carol had suspected.

 

“Which highway do I take?” Carol asks, sounding surprisingly calm, and Therese turns around, reaches down at her feet and pulls the map from her backpack.

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
